"Yes, it does seem a shame," Joyce said; and then she went to the bed, and, kneeling down, kissed Piers' hand as it lay upon the counterpane.
"I felt so sorry for you this afternoon, dear," she said. "It gave me a great pain to hear Melville speak as he did to you."
"Never mind, Joy, never mind. What does it matter?" And the boy stroked his sister's hair fondly. "I don't mind; I would rather have my crooked, helpless legs than be like him. Yes, I really would," he repeated. "But Joyce, don't begin to care for any one more than me; that is what I dread."
"You foolish boy," she answered; "as if I could care for any one as I do for you! And when I come back from Mrs. More's I shall have so much to tell you; and I may get some nice books there, which we will read together."
Piers turned suddenly and threw his arms round his sister's neck. He was not usually demonstrative, but he said, with passionate energy, "While I have you, Joy, I can bear anything. Good-night."
"Good-night, dear; and never take foolish fancies into your head. You may be sure I shall always love you and be all I can to you. Good-night."
There is no doubt that a protecting maternal element in the love of a sister for a brother makes the tie one of the most beautiful that exists. From the time of Piers' accident Joyce had constituted herself his helper and friend. Mrs. Falconer in her busy life could not devote herself to her crippled boy, as mothers of a less energetic and active nature might have done.
Joyce and she had it is true one aim in common: to hide from the father the sad consequences of that one rash act which had shut Piers out for ever from the free, joyous life of his young vigorous brothers. Mrs. Falconer did this by apparently making light of her boy's ailments, and inability to do what others did.
It was a good thing, she would say, that he could not climb trees and tear his clothes, or get into the stream by Wookey and ruin his boots and socks, or make her anxious by carrying a gun behind his father, in the time of rabbit and rook shooting.
Mrs. Falconer never betrayed what was indeed the truth, that the sound of Piers' crutches as they tapped across the old stone pavement of the hall, sent a thrill of sorrow through her breast, and that when Piers was laid up, as was not unfrequently the case, with an attack of pain in the hip which had been so severely injured, she avoided being much with him, and left him to Joyce, because the sight of his suffering brought back the memory of that morning when she saw him clinging with a frightened face to Rioter's back, and heard her husband say, "Don't make a coward of the boy: his brothers rode long before his age."